


Chris Argent Gets His Man

by Kris



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 20:19:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kris/pseuds/Kris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four scenes in a relationship</p><p>The working title to this was: How Chris Argent Seduces John Stilinski (with his body, because he’s a whore, seriously, how is this John’s life?) </p><p>(sorry about the hunter names, i was all out of creativity)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chris Argent Gets His Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silentflux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentflux/gifts).



1.

When John Stilinski tries yoga (oh, holy god, yoga) it’s because he’s thrown his back out. He throws his back out getting out of bed. That’s when you know you’re getting old, when you slip a disc getting out of bed jesus, what even is his life?

The yoga comes because Marla at reception swears it will set him back to rights and then registers him for the evening session at the rec centre and puts the appointment in his calendar before the words ‘no thanks, I’m seeing my doctor’ can leave his mouth. People who mess with Marla’s calendar usually regret it in some way. Jeez, you’re late for one meeting thanks to a Code 419 and there’s mysteriously never any coffee in the pot when you go for a cup.

He still goes to the doctor and realizes that it’s time to get a new doctor when the old one puts him back into one piece and still tells him that the yoga would be a great idea. Obviously the old doctor is really a witch doctor in disguise and probably plans on doing something nefarious while John is locked in hippy hell from 7:00 to 8:30. 

None of this changes anything, which is why at 6:30 on a Thursday evening John finds himself slinking into the rec centre with a gym bag over his shoulder and a feeling of dread settled low in his stomach. There’s a whiteboard hanging over the reception desk that tells him Yoga is in room 313-A and John smiles thinly at the receptionist before he heads up the stairs to the third floor.

The very last person he expects to see, in black yoga pants and a blue wife beater and bare feet, is Chris Argent. Chris smiles at him when John comes into the room. There are about ten other people in the room and they’re all women. Judy Miller from Oak Street (famous for her chocolate chip cookies and that break-in last Christmas where she’d brained the assailant with the turkey thawing in the kitchen sink) grins at him and waves him over to the empty mat beside her.

“It’s great that you’re here, Sheriff, don’t worry, Marla called and asked me to keep an eye on you.”

“Great,” John says and grits his teeth and smiles his public relations smile. And then Chris Argent faces the mirror, bends over to touch his toes, stretches back to reach over his head and flashes his pearly whites at the class.

“Okay everyone, we’ll start at the top of the mat, and in mountain pose. Feel free to stop at any time to get a drink of water, if you feel dizzy, set yourself down into child’s pose and just wait until you feel you’re back to being steady.” Chris says and yes, this is his personal hell, but before he can really get himself into his shame cycle, Judy helpfully nudges him to the top of his mat. He stumbles his way through mountain, triangle, warrior, the hell that is whatever the fuck tree pose is and then the new fresher hell of staring at Chris Argent’s ass as he demonstrates downward facing dog against a wall of mirrors and reflect from the side by the second wall of mirrors to John’s right so he can’t even look away.

By the time the hour is up John feels strung out and used up and he sits on the mat getting his bearings for a few minutes (read: think unsexy thoughts) as the class files out of the room. Judy pats him on the shoulder.

“You did great Sheriff,” she says as she leaves. Chris is taking an extra (awful) long time clearing up his space, turning off the godawful hipster music that been serenading that class. John doesn’t move until the door is finally closed behind the last of them and Chris has his back turned but it’s like the man has superhuman reflexes because the second John is on his feet Chris’ eyes are focused on him like a laser. 

“How did you like the class, Sheriff?” Chris asks and John is thankful that his unsexy thoughts have mostly worked.

“Oh, I think a man who makes me sweat and stretch more than I’ve ever done in my life in a one hour period can call me John,” Chris’ eyes widen, and John can’t even process that those words came out of his mouth, then darken and the smile on his face is a little more lecherous.

“Is that what I did?” his voice is a low drawl that goes right to John’s cock. John finds himself licking his lips. The door is only ten feet to his right. He could make it out and maybe not meet Chris’ eyes when they meet for the next few weeks until this blows over, until he convinces himself that this was all a dream.

“Well,” John says roughly and he takes a step into Chris’ space. “If you’re asking if I’ll be coming next Thursday, that would probably be a yes.” Chris takes a step back and John takes another step forward until Chris’ back is plastered up against the wall of mirrors and John is pressed tight against his front.

“Yeah,” Chris murmurs and hitches a long (so long) leg up around John’s waist, John’s hands come to rest on the other man’s hip bones. “that’s exactly what I’m asking.” His mouth latches on the sweat skin of John’s clavicle, sucking lightly.

“What are we doing Chris?” John asks, he can feel Chris’ hard cock pressing a long hot line against his stomach through his pants.

“You came to me,” he says and John can’t really deny that. “I imagine we’re both just lonely,” Chris says. John almost drops him but then that slick tongue drags up a wet warm line up his neck and John shudders instead. Slides his hands down under the waistband of Chris’ pants and lower to grab handfuls of the ass the other man has been waving in his face over and over again all class long and Chris cooperates by wrapping other leg around John’s waist and somehow grinding his ass down into John’s hands and against John’s lap. His cock jerks at the movement. John moves his own lower half, pressing more firmly into Chris. He leaves Chris to do the work of holding their lower bodies tightly together with his legs, John grinding in rhythmically while he runs his hands up to the tight muscles in Chris’ back and around the front where he pulls Chris’ shirt up and and over his head. Chris makes a hitching gasp every time John rolls his hips up and it makes John shake. 

“Look at you, jesus, how are you so gorgeous?” John asks, he nudges his lips over a high cheekbone, mouths his way down a chiseled jawline and nips so Chris turns his head towards the other mirror wall and he groans low in his throat when Chris shudders, rutting helplessly against John when he sees the flush high on his own cheekbones. The way his eyes are half lidded with pupils blown wide with lust and his lips wet and parted for every sharp moan he makes.

John reaches between them, worms his hand into the front of Chris’ pants at an awkward angle and wraps his fingers around the generous girth he finds there. Chris makes a broken sound and his head thumps against the mirror behind him hard enough to shake it. It barely takes any effort, John slides his hand up and down the cut length of him and passes his thumb over the head and Chris’ whole body jerks up against him and he makes that beautiful broken noise again and comes and comes between them. 

John jerks him through it until Chris unwinds his legs from around him and John huffs softly because he’s nowhere near finished and then he’s the one making a broken sound as Chris falls gracefully to his knees and pulls John’s shorts and underwear down with him. He shudders when Chris puts his very (extremely) talented tongue to use on the head of John’s cock before sucking him down and down and down until his nose is pressed against John’s skin and he swallows. John can’t hold in the embarrassing noises he’s making and he barely manages to gasp out a warning that Chris doesn't even remotely heed. John comes and the world narrows down to the sight of Chris’ lips on the root of his cock, and his throat working as he swallows over and over again. The reflected image of them, John resting his hands on the mirror holding himself up with his head hanging down and Chris licking the last few drops of John’s come from the tip of his dick, is going to feature heavily in John’s fantasies from now on.

There’s a lot of hands on help with cleaning and redressing, John is more than happy to wipe down the inside of Chris’ pants and Chris is more than happy to rest his back against John’s chest and watch the movement of John’s hand in the mirror, half lidded and sultry and making John want to do it all over again but they’re not young men anymore.

“We should do this again,” Chris says as they’re leaving the rec centre. John raises and eyebrow and Chris grins ruefully and runs a hand over the back of his neck with a blush high on his cheeks. John will admit it, he is utterly fascinated. “I meant, a date maybe?” John smiles and leans forward into Chris’ space. He drops a light kiss to Chris’ lips and pulls back quickly.

“I’m on day shift Saturday, off at 4:30. I’ll pick you up at seven and we’ll go out to dinner, Pasquale’s on Main Street. Sound good?” Chris grins.

2.

John picks Chris up at seven Saturday evening, Chris smiles and John feels a twist in his gut that is either remembering the absolutely fantastic yoga class or maybe the way the smile makes those bright eyes sparkle a little. 

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Alison calls from the door. John can't help the chuckle at the constipated expression that replaces the charming smile. 

"If that's all you got you should consider yourself lucky. I had to sit through a three hour rant that mostly centered around the complete and utter disbelief that if I was going to date the parent of one of my son's friends, why couldn't I date Melissa McCall so that he and Scott could be real brothers." John isn't even kidding, Stiles had held him hostage on the couch in his office with a barrage of complaints that basically boiled down to him saying "Mr. Argent Dad? Really really?" Chris laughs and waves at Alison who may or may not be shouting at him to have Chris back by curfew. 

"Children are so embarrassing aren't they?" Chris laughs and John has a moment of insanity where his brain decides it will agree on everything ever if only Chris tips his head back and laughs like that forever. 

"They're something alright," John says. 

Pasquale's is a small family run Italian restaurant, not inside Beacon Hills but only ten minutes north in Wollerton. It's a town favourite though which makes Chris' intrigued face a little confusing. 

"You've been in town for almost three years now and you've never been to Pasquale's?" John is in a little disbelief as he pulls into the parking lot. 

Chris shakes his head and shrugs. "We pretty much cook everything and sometimes we order in pizza or Chinese."

"You're in for a treat then, Stiles and I have been coming here for years."

Luanne is manning the hostess station when Johns holds the door open for Chris and gets a goodnatured elbow to the gut for his trouble. She's got a big smile on her face when he looks at her. Her blonde ponytail is practically shaking with enthusiasm. 

"Sheriff! Good to see you! Right this way please!" John chuckles at how well she gets the exclamation points across. 

There's a line at the door that she leads then straight past and John frowns. He had been planning to make reservations but had figured the wait wouldn't be too long and they could have a drink at the bar while they waited. 

"Thanks Luanne, but I didn't make reservations." Her smile falters for a second before its in full force. 

"Your son did, he called yesterday to book, asked for a quiet table for two out of the way, he also said to tell you to have fun you crazy kids." John would be embarrassed but Chris is laughing again. He shakes his head at John. 

"You win for craziest kid, John."

"Meddlesome little things," John mutters. Stiles is going to pay for this in bathtub baby pictures the next time his friends are over. 

Dinner turns out to be the exact opposite of (what John thought it would be) relaxing. It's actually pure hell. Chris in low lighting, candle light reflecting in his face with those baby blues and pearly whites and the fingers playing with his fork. The sitting. God the sitting there and looking gorgeous and edible. John can't believe he volunteered to torture himself like this and then he remembers yoga. 

"So being the expert that you claim to be, what's good here?" Chris asks. John smiles. He orders the lasagna for two, rolls, the spring salad and the house red. Chris blushes darkly when their server all but coos over how ridiculously cute the entire situation is. 

"I hope that wasn't too presumptuous of me?" John murmurs. This is getting awkward, maybe this date thing was a mistake. They had fantastic sex in a yoga studio, who even tries to base a relationship out of what didn't even amount to a one night stand?

"No, not at all, it sounds delicious." Chris plays with the knife, skilled fingers rolling the shaft back and forth. John struggles to find words to fill the silence (the way he definitely didn't struggle with picking the blue button down he's wearing, not even a little bit).

He finally blurts out "Stiles kills himself laughing every time I order the wine. He says it's unnatural." Chris grins at the confession. 

"When I take Alison for ice cream she always giggles when I order the lemon sorbet and for the life of me I don't know why it's funny." John can't help the soft laughter. Just like that the awkwardness is gone and they spend two hours talking about work, kids, the food and John spends the ten minutes it takes for their server to come back with his credit card to calm down because watching Chris Argent eat chocolate mousse is like watching the very best porn. John has never wanted to be an inanimate object more than he wanted to be that spoon. 

The drive back is quite and they're only about halfway to town when Chris' hand finds its way onto Johns knee. John drops his free hand down to Chris'. It's only a few miles more when Chris moves his hand into the inseam of John's pants, sliding back and forth until his fingers are brushing John's crotch with teasing, barely there pressure. 

"You were watching my mouth like it was a religious experience." Chris murmurs and John sighs. 

"You were licking that spoon." He lets his voice trail off as skillful fingers undo the button of his slacks, lower the zipper down, warm palm cupping him through his briefs before pulling his cock out. 

"I was thinking about having something else in my mouth," Chris confesses and bends down John lets out a groan at the hotwetgood feeling of Chris' mouth swallowing him down. 

It's been years and years since John has had sex with someone and longer than he'd care to think about since he had gotten road head. He's fast developing a thing for having his cock in that sinfully talented mouth. Chris moans happily around him and John shudders. He pulls over to the side of the road, closes his eyes and comes down Chris' throat with a surprised groan when the talented tongue digs into the slit of his cock. 

Chris makes a surprised whining sound and then those awesome hitched gasps when John shoves a hand into his pants and fists him clumsily from the awkward angle. Chris comes with his eyes fluttered shut, biting into his bottom lip. 

It's a good thing Stiles is already in bed when he gets home because John doesn't think he can look his son in the eye after that. 

3.

There's directional blood spatter on the wall that the crime scene tech informs him is not arterial spray even if it kind of looks that way. The signs of struggle lead from the master bedroom's broken in second floor window (blood smeared over the messed up comforter, night table laying on its side and lamp shattered over the hardwood floor) down the hallway (pictures knocked out of place, large break in the drywall) into the living room where they're standing now. 

John observes the knocked over couch and the crime scene tech taking samples of coarse hair off the carpet when the front door of the Argent home slams open, Alison flying in with panic written all over her face. 

It's shamefully easy to get Alison to talk. She babbles on about some old friends of her grandfather's who came into town yesterday and tried to start a fight with Chris at the shooting range this morning. John already has units over to the only hotel in town checking up on their recent visitors because frankly they looked shady when he drove passed them yesterday afternoon outside the grocery store on 8th Avenue. 

"Alison, can you stay at a friend's house? I promise I'm going to find your dad." Jesus, John is going to find Chris and they're going to talk about this whatever they are. He doesn't even know who to leave Alison with. 

They settle for leaving Alison with Lydia. The units at the hotel report back that there's no one in the room but there are enough pictures pinned to a wall (Chris doing day to day things) to be suspicious and a big enough arsenal (weapons grade plutonium. Who even buys that?) for him to issue bolo's on Gordon Walker and Daniel Elkin. 

There isn't a lot to go on, and John has his hands full keeping both Alison and Stiles out of the way (they are both way too determined to get themselves involved with the investigation) and tracking down the meager leads he has but he's determined. He's got himself an honest to god reason to fight this one to the end. 

It takes about a week all told, a week of worrying about what's happening to Chris. A week of his son being a badly snooping busybody and Alison crying in his office every day waiting for him to drop her the tiniest bit of information but he finally gets a lead. 

More like he gets a phone call from Walker. Big man's voice loud in his ear through his land line. His unlisted home number. Telling him that Chris is with them and to stop looking. Telling him that they're leaving the area and it would be best not to follow any paths they might leave. 

The phone call is bullshit, the call display though, fucking morons. He finds that kid, Danny, the one he's had a talk or two with about hacking into private servers. They're outside Jungle, the kid is in tight jeans and a barely there tank top and he's covered in glitter from head to toe. 

"You know how to track phones?" John passed the point of politeness three days ago when the mayor's office told him to step down. Too personal, John is too invested, to run any kind of investigation seriously. Danny's eyes flinch to the side and he shrugs with one shoulder. 

"Theoretically." He says, like John's cyber division (Gary Newman, retired IT consultant) hasn't caught him on that at least twice. 

"Good," Danny twitches a little at the smile John's wearing. Probably he's using too many teeth. 

Danny as it turns out can definitely track phones by number from the tablet in his car and he's more than happy to do so in exchange for not getting ratted out to his parents (Conservative Senator Joan Mahealani and District Attorney Akamu Mahealani) that their son, newly eighteen, was trawling around in barely there clothing in a bar on a school night. Mostly John thinks the kid was just embarrassed about the glitter (it definitely brings out his cheekbones). 

The phone number isn't even a burner phone, it's on an AT&T plan registered to Gordon Walker and the phone is currently active in the old silver mine up on the east end of the nature preserve. John is selfish enough (to invested) that he doesn't call for backup. He's stupid enough that he forgets to let Danny out of the cruiser, just drives out to the preserve with an underaged kid in clubbing clothes. Danny sits clutching his tablet to his chest like a shield when John slides the cruiser to a stop ten meters from the entrance to the silver mine with gravel spraying everywhere. 

"Shit," John groans, he gets out and gestures for Danny to stay in car. Danny stares at him with wide eyes. "I'm in a bit of a rush here kid. The men you just tracked dangerous, they're holding Chris Agent hostage in that mine and I'm going in to get him. Stay here and out of the way. I'll be back soon."

He's crouched down behind some bushes by the entrance when the gravel crunches behind him. John whirls around hands coming up to catch and hold. Danny blocks him. 

"Twelve years of Kickboxing and Muay Thai, also I called the station for backup." Danny shakes his phone at John. 

"No seriously kid, go back to the car," John tries to order. There's a shout at the entrance and John's attention is back on the man coming out of the mine. This one isn't Walker, but it isn't Elkin either. 

"Would you shut up!" the man shouts. "I'm going to check the perimeter." John waits, poised, until the man starts walking. He's in the shadows before John pounces. Lunges up into a roundhouse that drops the guy into a crumpled heap. He turns to Danny and the kid is unashamedly licking his lips, eyes lit up with interest. 

"Don't do that, it's creepy." John orders. 

"You're the one dragging a teenager you picked up outside a gay bar to a crime scene in the middle of the night." Danny returns. John rolls his eyes. 

"Stay behind me, kid." They advance through the front. There a three more men, armed with guns and knives. John takes two of them easily. He turns around to Danny holding the third on the ground with an arm around his throat. John kneels in front of him and catches the man's eye. 

"How many more of your people are there?" John asks. Danny lets up enough that the guy can get a word out. 

"I'm not telling you monsters anything," he snarls and spits in John's face. John punches him hard and the man slumps down in Danny's arms. 

"That was stupid," Danny mutters to the unconscious man. Further up there's a sound of electricity whining and a low moan of pain. John checks around a corner, hand up to stop Danny from moving forward. In one of the main connector rooms Chris is tied into a chair, wires running from a generator are hooked up to his bare chest. He has knife wounds everywhere that John can see. Danny draws in a hisses breath at the sight. 

Gordon Walker, identified by the mugshots John has burned into his brain from the time he’s spent staring at it, is sprawled out in a chair in the corner, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. John barely has time to wonder where Michael Elkin is before the man comes in from a different tunnel whistling and cleaning a large hunting knife on a towel already streaked with blood. 

Elkin nods at Walker who sits forward and snaps a switch on the generator Chris is hooked too. Chris jerks, body stiffening, the muscles in his neck strain obviously and Danny's hand clenches around Johns wrist briefly. Another nod and Walker flicks the switch again. Chris slumps back into the chair and shivers with aftershocks. 

"Now, I thought you were a smart man, Argent. I never thought you'd willing suffer abominations like Hale and his pack to live. But here we are, and here you are. Not only breaking your dearly departed father's heart by letting those monsters run loose but you're dicking one of them, you're a disgusting freak."

"You haven't done your homework," Chris croaks. "The only person I'm sleeping with is .."

"Stilinski, we know," Walker sneers. "We also know he's Hale's right hand. Really this is a two-for deal here. We're making your father, your sister hell, your dead wife proud by putting a stop to your shameful indiscretion and we're stabbing a knife right into the centre of Hale's pathetic little pack."

Chris is laughing, a wet disgusting sound that makes John worry about fluid in Chris' lungs. "You're both fucking idiots." 

"Things you probably didn't know," Elkin offers, almost like it's a kindness. "According to intel, Stilinski's dicking Hale too."

"Go Stiles," Danny breathes out with almost no noise. John twitches violently at the thought, Chris is laughing almost hysterically at the two men now. They're both looking at him, attention on him fully. John and Danny step around the corner.

"What's so fucking funny?" Walker asks. He flips that stupid switch for a second before flipping it off. John taps the guy on his shoulder and punches him in the face when Walker turns around. 

"Wrong Stilinski," John says. Walker actually puts up a fight and John is stretching muscles he hasn't had to outside of sparring (with Gary Newman, of all people, but then the Internet is good for finding people's secrets and also for learning jujitsu). Danny's arms bulge where he's got Walker in a clinch of sorts, one arm free to punch the hell out of Walkers chest and midsection. 

By the time the sirens signalling backup come up to the mine shaft. John and Danny have tied all the unconscious assailants and piled them at the front of the mine and they're carrying Chris to the ambulance as it pulls up. 

John is aware of how strange it looks. Chris is propped up between the Sheriff who isn't supposed to be working this investigation and a teenager dressed for clubbing and all of them are covered in glitter, bruises and blood. 

Maybe John has succumbed to the craziness of the situation, the low light or the adrenaline but covered in blood and sparkles is a terribly good look on Chris. 

"I can't wait to get you home," John murmurs to Chris. "I'm going to fuck you so hard we'll probably break the bed." Chris laughs a little and on his other side Danny sighs. 

"I would totally be down with that," the kid says. John pretends the shudder that Chris gives is only an aftershock from the electrocution.

It turns out Danny really is down for that, and a later (much, much later), after the hospital and arresting Walker and Gordon and soothing bruised egos (the mayor) the sight of Danny's lithe bare body splayed out between Chris' thighs swallowing Chris' cock down is something that John will happily agree to see again and again. Especially with the way Danny lets out an eager groan and spreads his legs wide when John runs a finger down the curve of his ass. John sighs and pets the very well muscled thighs for a few minutes, angsting, when Danny pulls off Chris's cock with an audible pop. 

"Seriously, I'm 18, you aren't my first, you're not even my first older guy, get on with it," he orders and John can't help the part of him that wonders who he has to arrest. Above Danny's head Chris' smirks at him right up until Danny swallows him down to the root. John doesn't hurry the prep, the sounds coming out of Danny are dirty, needy and perfect and when John is up to four fingers Danny has stopped blowing Chris to bury his head in the crease of his thigh and groan riding John's fingers like it's his day job. (John will feel guilty later, for having two younger lovers, one he’s basically robbing the cradle for, but not guilty enough to stop when they’re both standing in his doorway looking good enough to eat).

"That's hot," Chris licks his lip and runs a hand through Danny's hair. "I bet he can come just from that." John leans forward to lick at Chris' lips too. He fucks Chris' mouth with his tongue to the same slow dirty rhythm he's finger fucking Danny and he keeps it up until Danny is shaking apart between them, thighs trembling from effort. Danny's entire body jerks when John starts milking his prostate and when he comes Chris jerks in shocked surprise and comes all over himself and Danny's face when Danny buries teeth into Chris' thigh. 

John chuckles at the limp pile of limbs they make under him and then again, a low seductive sound at the way Danny shudders and whines when John slides in and bottoms out on the first thrust. Danny lets go of Chris' legs and Chris tugs the younger man up his body to kiss him while John fucks away at him in slow thrusts until Danny's hard again (shaking apart again) between him and Chris and coming wetly over Chris' abs. 

John clenches his hands around Danny's hips and fucks into him hard and rough for half a dozen more thrusts before he comes with a shout, lights exploding behind his eyelids.

4.

Something about the kidnapping, something Walker said, hasn't been sitting right with him. Not just the part about Stiles sleeping with Derek Hale (that was what the teenagers refer to as a fight of Epic proportions and ended in Stiles quoting something called yolo at him while John sat with his head in his hands and wondered how the conversation had gone so far off the 'I support your life choices but isn't he a little old for you?' track while hypocritically trying not to think about lithe tanned skin stretched out on white sheets, Danny biting his lip, hands clenched around the headboard while Chris pushes in). What really bothered John was the way Walker and Elkin swore up and down that they were putting down a menace to society and that John would thank them for it if he had seen the monsters they had seen. The way Chris hadn't denied anything.

Stiles is in on it somehow John reasons. He's been putting up with secrets and lies for long enough and the coming out act the boy had put on was an obvious distraction tactic. John is basically waiting in the shadows for his chance to jump in. He tries calling Chris,talking to him more than once. He asks what he assumes are leading questions and doesn't get anything out if it. (Well, anything other than the way Chris fucks him in his garage, shoving in rough and fast and barely controlled over the hood of Chris' SUV. As distractions go it's a pretty good one.)

When he gets a call from the school three days in a row about Stiles' truancy John grasps the opportunity with both hands. Waving arms, shouting about grounding and taking away privileges like friends, late curfew and his laptop. Stiles panics in a way that says there's something more incriminating than his porn collection on the machine. John is confident this is his only opportunity to get answers so he takes the laptop and at 3:30 on a Friday afternoon, almost a month to the day he and Danny rescued Chris from the old silver mine, John pulls up in front of Beacon Hills High to pick up his lover (god he is such a dirty old man, how is this even his life?) and not his son.

Danny is on the front steps of the school having what looks like a vehement argument with Jackson Whitmore, Stiles, Scott and Isaac Lahey. John blasts the siren for a second and watches the comical way every teenager in the front yard of the school freezes. He rolls his window down and calls Danny to him. 

Stiles looks immediately more panicked than he had when John took the computer in the first place. He clutches at Danny's arm but Danny shakes him off angrily saying something John can’t hear from this distance and makes his way to the car. He sees Chris' SUV (picking up Alison from school) and sees the way Chris exchanges meaningful glances with Stiles. John knows his son, that look is an outright 'are you covering or should I?'.

"So, that looked pretty heated," John murmurs as he pulls onto Main Street. Danny shrugs a little. 

"They're keeping secrets, I don't really want to talk about it." Danny reaches a hand out to rest it on John's thigh. John lets his hand drop to cover Danny's. 

"Well that's too bad I guess, because I think I have answers for both of us." He gestures at the laptop resting on the back seat. 

***

"Werewolves?" he asks. Danny joins John in staring at the crazy woman in front of them with the distorted forehead, missing eyebrows and glowing red eyes. She smiles at them and her red painted lips stretch obscenely over yellowed fangs. Turns out they didn't need Stiles’ computer after all. 

(She lept out at them from the woods while they were driving up Pine Street. Knocked John out when he rushed to see if she was alright. He had come to on the porch of the mostly demolished ruins of the old Hale house, hands tied behind his back with Danny leaning against him.)

"Shut up," Derek Hale of all people hisses at John before he turns back to the crazy woman. Beside Derek, Stiles smiles reassuringly with a baseball bat of all things strapped to his back. Scott, Isaac Lahey and Jackson Whitmore are all standing behind Derek, snarling and yellow eyed.

There’s some monologuing from the woman (the werewolf) that John doesn't pay attention to in favour of catching his younger lover's hand and watching Chris come out of the woods in a pair of tight blue jeans and a black leather jacket holding a crossbow of all things.

“Well, I guess it’s his turn for the rescue anyway.” Danny says and he and John both ignore the glare Hale sends their way. John wonders idly if this standoff is going to distract everyone enough that he can at least get Danny to the cruiser parked ten feet away.

There's some shouting about territory lines, shouting about alphas and betas and omegas and Derek lets out an impressive roar that leaves the crazy woman cackling madly. She lunges at Stiles and Derek catches her by the throat, his claws (claws!) rip the woman's head right off spraying Stiles with blood across his face and chest. Only Danny's tight hold on John's hands keeps John from going crazy. 

Stiles smiles at him (probably he means to be reassuring, but he’s still covered in blood) while he unties them and John doesn't let him get a word in edgewise when he starts talking, rubbing the bruised skin of his wrists. 

"You're grounded until you're 80 and I don't want to hear about it," John snaps. Stiles opens his mouth, John glares him into submission. Danny stares at Chris, Chris has a sheepish expression on his face and John has had it with being captured and snarled at. He tugs Danny to his feet and stalks over to his cruiser. Danny climbs into the back seat when John opens the door for him. 

"John," Chris starts. John points at the passenger seat of of the cruiser. 

"You're going to explain everything to us,” he tells Chris in a no nonsense tone of voice and Chris climbs meekly into the cruiser. (“So busted,” Danny tells him.)

"Wait, why is Danny in the car dad," Stiles asks. John ignores him in favour of pointing at Derek.

“You get my boy home safe or I’m going to fill you with so many bullet holes you could pass as swiss cheese.”

"Dad? Dad!" Stiles shouts. “What are you doing with Danny?” John sees Derek lean down and whisper something in Stiles' ear and Stiles shrieks like a little girl who's just stepped on a frog as John drives away.

Later, armed with the knowledge that Derek could probably smell Danny’s scent on both himself and Chris in a not-so-innocent way, John will relish the horrified look on his son’s face whenever Stiles is reminded.

Then he walks in on Stiles and Derek in the shower. Jesus, he’s never getting that image out of his head.

/end


End file.
